Poems by Anne Pollock

Cold night on Craggy Height,
The witches make ready their yearly flight.
Old brooms rewoven, blackest cats chosen.
When they fly tonight, there'll be no dozing.

The Man in the Moon cringes and reels
As the squadron ascends in hair-raising squeals,
Cursing and searching with wide-eyed stares
For the first to be caught, alone, unawares.

One night a year, this horrible team
Is free to wander--on Halloween.
Free to wander through graveyards and homes
Searching for eyes and toes and bones.

Nine "ingredients" in all must be found,
Then drawn and quartered and carefully bound.
For the larders are low, the potions and stews,
The awful black broths, the green gooey brews.

So, beware little frogs, little newts, little boys;
Beware ALL you mortals--make little noise!
For the night is long, and the heyday is high
'Ere the witches remount and return to the sky,
With their treasures all bundled like bogus St. Nicks
To a party up north that I hope you will miss!

I love the lengthening shades of day
As autumn brushes summer away.
When spiders appear from everywhere,
Their sticky webs snagging my face and hair.

My flowers are slower and growing old;
For their sake, I should rue the cold.
But the child within me favors the fall,
The chilly air, the wind, and all.

Oh, to capture Christmas
In the palm of one's hand;
To clasp, like a jeweled strand,
Every memory dear and grand.

To cherish and remember
Every cold, colorful December;
The cheery topaz embers
Of a lazy Christmas Eve.

Mother and brother trimming the tree
In diamond and emerald symmetry,
While father prepares his special tea.
And I at the spinet, the tinkling gem-like tones,
Harmonizing with my own voice
And the winter's gusty moans.

The choirs, the carols,
The crystal-voiced heralds
Announcing the sapphire dawn;
The untidy wrappings,
The candies, the mince,
The parent's enveloping yawns.

Christmas with my family,
So dear, so long ago;
May the old times, like a garnet,
In my memory ever glow.

I shall wrap myself in a blanket of Christmas
Where all is hushed and still,
Save for the tiny sound of a baby's breath
Born to bring peace and goodwill.

Just I and the child held close in my heart
And my silent friends gathered near
Warmed by a fire of consuming love
That fills the room with cheer.

Then, what shall I say to my lonely fears
When my heart is entranced by joy?
I'll give thanks in my heart for a loving God
And a gentle, sweet, little boy.

Shiver me timbers, rattle me bones,
it's All Hallows' Eve, and I'm on me way home.
Home to me wifey, me Katy, me best--
been three hundred years since they laid us to rest.

Through bolted door I'll slither,
one night alone I'll stay;
though shrieking mortals scatter,
naught shall bar the way.

Sure I am to find her as in the bygone days,
knitting me tatters and mending me frays;
rocking and turning a pale, toothy grin
to greet her dear Johnny and welcome me in.

Loosed from the grave to become the walking dead,
we'll toast our health with a bottle of red;
then taunt our hosts with stories retold
of the good old days before we grew mold.

Haunting the house we once called home,
one night of the year with Katy, me own.
Teasing and carousing 'til the crack of dawn
When I lose her again to the black beyond.

Sleighing through the forest
On a late December evening,
To my sister tightly clinging
In our flying wintry bed.

Father briskly leading
The pampered horses heaving,
Beneath the heavens reeling
Round the pole star we are led.

Faster, ever faster
O'er the crunching, steely ice,
Tucked in warm and cozy
Like some picture postcard mice.

The mighty forest bows before us
Beneath its weight in snow,
A shimmering palace of ice crystals
Bathed in moonlight's glow.

Wind ascending,
Sleep descending,
As homeward bound we go.